


Looking for a Blue Blooded Brood Mare

by Maliciouspixie5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little crack at times, Anthea’s elusive past, Anthea’s intro to Omega verse and smutty Fanfic, Arranged Marriage, BAMF John, Broodmares, Drunk Anthea, Drunk John, F/M, Goldfish debutants, He’s gay for Sherlock, Hidden guest stars, John is an excellent at plotting, John’s not gay, Let’s make Mycroft squirm, Lingerie lust, M/M, Mentions of fellatio, Mummy Holmes is a control freak, Sherlock imitating whack a mole, Sneaky Anthea, Sneaky John, Table Dancing, is gay, mentions of anal, would you please just stick with something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maliciouspixie5/pseuds/Maliciouspixie5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft would have to get married soon and produce the next generation of the British government. Well, not if Anthea has anything to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Howlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlynn/gifts).



> And this is what started it all…..
> 
> God, he would have to get married soon and produce the next generation of the British government. Mycroft sighed and made a note for Winstonia to find him a suitably titled brood mare and see to the introductions. He wondered if he should plan eight or twelve dates before he could get down to the business of proposing. Howlynn - Offerings to the Temple Of Mendacity  
> And thanks to Qui (TPP) and her Fitbit challenge which had me listening to slutty techno pop while exercising and the plot bunny went from a nifty idea to slutty and crazy…. Can anyone tell me how I accidently put Vega’s Caramel next to Sexy Back on my iPod? You go from vigorous music to wanting to hang yourself on the next oak branch.

Looking for a Blue Blooded Brood Mare

John Watson put down his clip board and picked up the buzzing phone from his desk at the surgery. He expected it to be Sherlock with another request for milk. However the message was from Anthea. This wasn’t a pub night, he thought raising an eyebrow.

MEET AT PIANO IN KINSINGTON 8ISH – A

Piano is not a pub it’s a bar restaurant with live piano music. What on earth would Anthea have him meet her at a restaurant so far from their local? Hopefully this wouldn’t eat too deep into his meager budget. 

They had become something like ‘friends’ when Mycroft ‘lent’ him Anthea the last time Sherlock landed himself in hospital. He was released from and told to convalesce at home for a week before going back to the game. One ‘Bored’ and John knew it wasn’t going to happen and that is where Anthea came into the picture. The only thing Sherlock seemed to fear besides ‘Mummy’ Holmes was the curvy brunette. When he scoffed at John over a week’s bedrest Anthea took care of it. One smirk coupled with a threat to cut off his phone and he fell somewhat in line. He being Sherlock had to test her of course, and slowly to the noise from her phone playing Angry Bird one item after another belonging to Sherlock Holmes went black. He even made a feeble grab for John’s laptop only to watch it go black. 

Anthea was a lot more than the neat efficient aid she presented on first sight. She was genius level brilliant had a wicked since of humor and was ruthless and was probably more qualified to be an assassin than an assistant to a politician. He had a great admiration for his friend. 

He raised his eyebrow; the text was a little off. Why a place like Piano? The location fit her style actually more than a pub but she had never suggested the location before... It was elegant and posh, more of a New York Piano bar than local pub. Again, Anthea always liked their mutual Holmes complaint nights at their local cozy pub. Something was off. Well he would just have to see what was going on when he got there.

***  
When he walked into Piano he scanned the bar area for Anthea but did not see her. But, he heard her, so he scanned the back of the room and found her standing near the piano. She stood there with her hand on the pianist shoulder. She was singing, who knew she had such a lovely voice. Her voice rang clear and the longing in the lyrics resonated around the room. 

It won't do  
to stir a deep desire,  
to fan a hidden fire  
that can never burn true.

I know your name,  
I know your skin,  
I know the way  
these things begin...

But I don't know  
what I would give of myself,  
how I would live with myself  
if you don't go.

It won't do  
to dream of caramel,  
to think of cinnamon  
and long  
for you. 

He watched her from the side of the room admiring her voice but feeling sorry for her because he knew whom she sang about and it made him cringe. They didn’t call Mycroft Holmes the Ice Man for nothing. Taking a resigned breath he surveyed the room and found them a seat in the corner away from the crowd. Good thing he was off for the next two days. 

She slid into the chair and like magic a waiter appeared. He ordered them both a glass of wine and a platter of cheese to share. He could make that last for quite some time and it looked like it was going to be a very long night. The waiter took the order with a smile and left them with a nod of his head. “Out with it, what did he do?”

“I’ve got some research to do for him for a new project,” she all but spit the last word and looked like she was going to start crying for the moment then took a deep breath did the British stiff upper lip and continued, “I’m to find him several young prospects for the position of Mrs. Holmes.”

John almost spit out his wine. “He what, wants you to pick out his wife? Good God...”

“She needs to be suitably titled, virginal if possible,” John snorted, she looked at him with a cold anger then continued. “Fertile,” she actually growled the word. “And Anthea dear, do you think it will take eight or ten dates before I can get down to the business of proposing?” She said the last in perfect mimic of Mycroft’s public school accent; it actually made him shiver with her accuracy.

“Of all the bloodless...” He started to say and she cut him off with a rant.

“Yes! Cold blooded, misogynistic, ice veined, ass!”

“And yet…” he gave her a sympathetic look.

“Yet, I want him I want to be his Mrs. Holmes.” She whined and dropped her head into her hands. He wondered if this was the moment he was supposed to give her the ‘it will be alright’ hug.

He said instead, “Then you are going to have to be the one to thaw him out.” He said this jokingly. Suddenly, her head came up and she looked at him a bit wild eyed.

“War, this is war and you will be my Sun Tzu.” The tears were drying up at least.

“You have only had one glass so it’s not the alcohol talking. That leaves me to think he has finally driven you over the edge.” He was starting to get…

“John, you are Three Continents Watson. Have you have lost count of the number…”

“Hey! I’m reformed,” he interrupted. Now it was her turn to snort unladylike. “You however only have to bat your eyes and you have men falling at your feet.” He said patting her hand and giving her a sympathetic smile. 

“That doesn’t work on Holms.” Well wasn’t that the truth.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” A beautifully arched eyebrow inched its way higher and her smirk was predatory.

“So Mr. Watson, what say you, let’s go to war?”

“If we do this Anthea we will have to be cleverer than both the Holms brothers. It’s unlikely it will work, but on the off chance it does it will be the answer to both of our prayers. She looked at him with her game face on and John thought Mycroft needed to concede now before the blue blooded bloodshed started.

“What will be our first volley?”

“Loose the jacket, unbutton the shirt two more buttons, and we need to rip the slit in the back of your skirt up a good two inches. And we need to get sloshed.”

“This isn’t Monty Python.”

“No, this is a Holmes seduction,” and he looked at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “seed it with mystery and you set the hook. We need to get hot, sweaty, and somewhat disheveled.”

****

“Shhh, Mrs. Hud…son, sleep” said an intoxicated female voice followed by a door slamming shut. Sherlock peeked his head out of the shower. Why was John bringing a woman home? He thought he had got rid of the last one. This one knew of Mrs. Hudson? She was that familiar with John’s life? He quickly grabbed the towel and started to dry himself off.

“Nope, go somewhere. Sher. Sher. Sherlock doesn’t sleep. Let’s get him to dance with us, not finished dancing yet. More dancing!” John was drunk! Maybe someone had drugged him. Maybe this female had drugged him. He must investigate and rid John of this distraction. Just then the singing started. John Hamish Watson was singing, which he had heard before, it was what he was singing that made Sherlock grab his house coat and creep stealthily toward the couple in the lounge.

“A pity she does not exist, a shame he's not a fag  
The only girl I ever loved was Andrew in drag  
There is no hope of love for me, from here on I go stag  
The only girl I'll ever love is Andrew in drag.”

 

The woman cackled drunkenly, “John, Jawn, I have you know Moriarty’s middle name is Andrew. Do you think he would be a crazy shag?”

 

“I’ll ask Molly!” More laughter and then the sound of breaking glass. He hoped it was one of John’s mugs and not one of his experiments.

 

“Oh that was juvenile, but funny!” That voice was familiar. Sherlock peeked out the door and saw something he had never expected to see in his lifetime, a very intoxicated Anthea. It was as unexpected as seeing the Queen dancing naked down the Mall. Mycroft’s’ ice maiden was drunk and looking like he had never seen her before. She looked like someone that would turn John Watson’s eye. He snuck back toward his room and the drunken revelers never noticed.

 

Picking up his phone he called the one person who could solve this before it became a lingering problem. “Mycroft you must come get Anthea.”

“Who?” Mycroft asked drowsily. “Sherlock do you know what time it is?”

“Anthea, your assistant.” He said getting aggravated. “She is here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that night....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no beta.

LFABBBB CH 2

Mycroft stood in the doorway of the flat on Baker Street dumbstruck. It was three in the morning and his assistant of whom he had never seen out of business attire and in her most professional manner was dancing on the work table in his brother’s lounge. 

He had hired her because of her professional manner, ingenuity, and ruthlessness. She was also very beautiful, but again to him it was just a useful beauty. In all the years that she had worked from him he had yet to see her flustered. The highest emotion she had ever shown in his presence was a raised eyebrow with a touch of a sneer. She was an efficient non entity, simply part of his office, like the furniture. 

At this moment in time his most efficient piece of furniture had her head thrown back, her arms raised and was moving one hip in a fusion of belly dance and modern dance. Each beat of the music was accented with a suggestive up thrust of one hip. The music coming out of John’s computer wasn’t loud enough to wake the neighbors thankfully and the woman singing about dropping it low, popping it up, and turning it round had Mycroft completely flummoxed for the first time in his life. 

Or was it Anthea who had him flummoxed? He had never really thought of her as a she, she was the Help; she was there for him at his beck and call. Looking up at her he recognized the outfit she had worn for work the afternoon before. Her suit jacket was missing but the matching pinstriped pencil shirt was there. However he thought it would never be the same. It was twisted around to where the slit which was normally in the back now opened upon her thigh. Sometime tonight with all the energetic dancing she had been doing the skirt had ripped midway up her thigh and said thigh was now out of concealment and pumping her hip energetically northward.

Her royal blue top was unbuttoned and tied loosely under her breast and gapped open to reveal her satin bra. It was a Bordelle, Bondage Bell Soft Cup Wire Bra. He knew the brand because the Prime Ministers former mistress had a penchant for Bordelle and spent a small fortune on the suggestive scraps of cloth, but of course that was confidential information. The black and cream satin undergarment covered her creamy breast and he could feel his trousers tighten with the thought. Funny, he had never paid any attention to those either. It amazed him at what he had been missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> I used the floorplan from Sherlockology, if I got something incorrect it’s my fault.  
> I have no beta. I’m looking for a volunteer who does more that spell check. I want someone who could say ‘no, dipstick, that’s not how it would go’. So if you like in-depth nerd discussions about Sherlock and what you can do with him and your computer please drop me a line. I could use the help.
> 
> Music:  
> Kat Deluna – Drop it Low


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LFABBBB CH3  
> Earlier that night…

LFABBBB CH3  
Earlier that night…

 

“No, no, not that one. I think Bordelle over the Agent Provocateur.” John said as he studied the expensive lingerie ensemble Anthea held up for his inspection. “Mycroft must pay well.” He said as he glanced over at the drawers piled full of lace underthings. There were several drawers of bras, the same for knickers and another for other odd garments that she seemed to collect. Not to mention the clothing. Anthea seemed to go for solid colors and very reserved cuts. Some of the items hanging were bespoke. All in all this room held quite a fortune in personal attire.

 

At the moment John was lounging in a pink boudoir chair in Anthea’s dressing room which she had explained had once been a large guest bedroom in her townhouse. Looking up at him she said, “Hmm, no my late father made sure I was provided for.” She opened yet another drawer and pulled out two bras, “Blue lace or the solid cream and black?” She held them up one at a time in front of her contemplating.

 

“I would go with the cream and black. Ok, we need to go over strategy. What did he say he was looking for again?” 

 

“Hmm suitably titled, virginal if possible, and willing to shell out a child to carry on the family name.” She started to pull off her suit jacket. Removing it she carefully folded it and laid it across a chaise lounge. “Why not the lace, you know, show a little nipple?”

 

“Too early for nipples. Tease him with the swell of your breast; you just don’t understand what that does to a guy. And I can’t wait to see what it does to one as repressed as Mycroft.” 

 

She started to unbutton the blouse and looked up to see him watching. “I thought you were batting for the other team now?” she asked. He looked up innocently. She laughed and motioned for him to turn around. He did so but still had a nice view from the vanity mirror. 

 

“I bat for Sherlock, or I would if he would only see me. But still, that doesn’t mean a beautiful woman wouldn’t turn my eye. “

 

“Thanks, so what outfit shall I wear?” She held up a black wrap dress. He turned to look and shook his head.

 

“No I want you in what you wore today. Monday when you are in your business clothes I want him to look at you and see what is underneath hidden from view. I want it to crawl around in his head all day long.”

 

“I think I like that, what else?” She asked as she removed the top and threw it on the chase and then reached back and unbuttoned the serviceable bra she had worn that day. Unclasping it she threw it on the floor. She picked up the Bordelle bra and slipped it on then picked up the top and started to button it back up. She pulled up her skirt and pulled off the briefs and traded them for a thong to match the bra.  
She pulled the skirt back down. “Done” she announced.

 

“Tonight I want you to have only one drink, I want you to be clear headed. But make the drink a strong one, maybe spill a little bit on your skirt. We need to look sloshed and the stain plus the smell of the alcohol will paint a good picture of an uninhibited Anthea. I hope you are a good actress.”

 

“The best, I can keep a secret for you or from you. I’ve hid my feelings from him for quite some time.”

 

“Sorry.” He looked at her with sympathy. “Ok when you get back to work Monday you need to look like you’re doing your job. I want you to look for someone just out of the school room. She needs to be very virginal, scared of men if you can manage that.” He giggled, “The more noble title you can get the better.” He then grinned, “Find on that is fond of pastels, pink, lots and lots of pastel pink.”

 

“John, he would snap that up, why would you want me to find him someone!”

 

“Gold fish, I want you to find him a gold fish or a female with the IQ of one.” He gave a mean little smile, “I want him to be bored to death.” The only reply for a moment was her laughter. “Believe me, she won’t last long.”

 

//////  
I don’t know if any of you are Pinterest fans but I am. I use it as an inspiration page when I’m writing. If you would like a peek come see me at https://www.pinterest.com/maliciouspixie5/bbbm-wip/


	4. LFABBBB CH4

She was getting too much into the storyline. She and John were supposed to dance and put on a good show and irritate Sherlock enough for him to call Mycroft. That part of the plan had gone like clockwork, but what inspired her to jump up on the work table to belly dance to the club music John had playing she couldn’t comprehend. The one drink had not gone to her head and normally she wasn’t this impulsive.

 

It had to have been the music. The music had her mixing hip locks and drops with some of the moves she had learned at various clubs in her wilder days when she would disappear from her watchers and live like one of the other kids. Mycroft had walked in and been shocked to discover their display and she had frozen mid pop and next she knew she was falling. Who knew the minor government official could move that fast. But falling into his arms and being held in his arms could only be described as heaven. She couldn’t help it and again she burst into impulsive giggles. So did John, he was laughing so hard he just sat down where he was standing.

 

Mycroft smelled incredible. She impulsively buried her face into his neck and moaned. If she wasn’t mistaken she thought she felt his heart skip. She pulled back and looked up into his eyes and said, “Mycroft, take me home.” He stopped breathing and looked down at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

John from his patch of floor actually squeed like a teen and then flopped on his back giggling like a fool. He threw one arm back and raised one knee with his legs parted just enough, oh the view. The man looked damn good and he was incredibly good at acting like a drunk and boy could he lay on the seduction. Between the two of them tonight both of the Holms brothers should be tied up in knots. “Please tell me Mycroft that you have cameras in here as well as bugs. I will pay you for a copy.” John said and then rolled over on his stomach laughing.

 

She wiggled a bit and Mycroft diverted his attention back to her. “You can let me down now,” she said. She made a point slither down him touching as much of his body as she could until he let her loose. She wanted to keep contact with him so she made a point to waiver unsteady on her heels. She let another giggle escape. He slid an arm around her waist to keep her steady. She looked him in the eye and asked with a breathy whisper. “You’re here to take me home?” 

 

He just nodded. Got you, she thought and now for another switch up. She widened her eyes and smiled wide and drunkenly and grabbing him by the hand, “Come, come, I have a great bottle of wine in the fridge. We can open it and dance some more.” Mycroft looked panicky for a moment. He was definitely out of his comfort zone. In his opinion a world crisis was easier to handle than his attractive and tipsy aid any day.

 

“I think its best we get you home and into bed Anthea.” He said with a small smile down at her.

“Yes Anthea, Mycroft needs get you in bed immediately, leave now.” Sherlock piped in and turned his attention back to his flat mate lying face down on the floor. Mycroft turned a dark shade of purple in embarrassment.

 

“Sherlock!” From the floor a giggling John interrupted, “You don’t say things like that.” He then seemed to sober up or he give a reasonably facsimile of doing so. “Sherlock, uh, why am I lying on the floor?”

 

John tried to get up on all fours and only succeeded in sliding his hands out in front of him raising his ass up in a suggestive manner. It was made to look accidental but the little wiggle he added on impulse was not in the lease bit innocent. His ass looked nice in the tight jeans he wore that night and with it wiggling suggestively in the air had even an oblivious Sherlock swallowing hard and wishing for a book to cover himself. The pajama pants did little cover his burgeoning excitement over the view.

 

Mycroft observed this with a smirk and used it for a little payback. “Well I think you need to get your flat mate in bed also. In the condition he’s in that shouldn’t be too hard,” he cleared his throat suggestively and looked toward Sherlock’s crotch. “John, Sherlock have a productive night. I don’t think I need to wish you luck.” Just then John’s hand ‘slipped’ and his ass went straight up again. 

 

After retrieving her jacket Mycroft and Anthea walked down the stairs of 221B. They could hear Sherlock explaining the situation to John. “John you seem to be indisposed due to excessive amounts of alcohol consumed with Mycroft’s aide. Why you would bother I don’t know.”

 

“I think I’m offended by that.” Anthea said and made as if she would turn and go back up the stairs. Mycroft stopped her by gently pulling her through the entrance and toward the waiting car. His driver held the door of the sedan open patiently waiting for them. They both climbed in and he slid toward the other side of the car and she drunkenly followed. She crowed him and where normally there would be enough room for a briefcase to lay flat between them tonight there was none. 

 

They rode in silence through the streets of London. Anthea took a deep breath and laid her head back; making it look like the alcohol was finally putting her to sleep. She mumbled “Tired” and shut her eyes and moderated her breathing to appear asleep. When the driver pulled to the curb in front of her townhouse Mycroft was surprised. He thought she would like most women her age have a small flat but her home was a rather nice brick two story town home. It was highlighted with a pink door and white trim and had pink roses growing in her well-manicured garden. It was so feminine and so very Anthea.

The driver opened his door. “Would you like for me to see her up Sir?” he asked. 

“No, I will handle this,” he replied. He had to admit he was curious to see more of her home. Anthea had now become a mystery to him. 

“Anthea dear, we need your key.” 

She mumbled and motioned to her jacket sitting on her lap. Mycroft took it from her and retrieved the key from an inner pocket. He helped her from the car and she leaned heavily on him as he walked her to the door. Opening the door they walked in to a home done in crisp white and black with faint shades of pink accents. 

She said nothing to him just walked ahead of him toward the stairs and started climbing them quietly. Mycroft followed just to be sure she made it to her bed where she belonged. He observed everything as he went. At the landing she kicked off her shoes and walked toward an open door. 

Passing a small table he viewed pictures of Anthea and a woman who Mycroft assumed was her mother. She was a smaller more delicate version of Anthea with pale skin, icy blue eyes, and golden blond hair. The next frame held a picture of the same woman wearing a white dress and equally young man wearing a traditional Arabic thobe. The other photos on the table held picture of Anthea’s grandfather who Mycroft recognized from his younger days as an Ambassador.

Mycroft followed Anthea into her bed room. Centered against the back wall was a black four poster bed with a fluffy white comforter. Anthea walked toward in and just collapsed upon it face first. Mycroft gave a small smile and picked up a throw off the corner of one of the chairs that was infront of the bed. He draped it over her and slipping from the room turned off the lights. He let himself out after securing the lock. The visit to Anthea’s home left him many questions.


	5. LFABBB CH5

LFABBB CH5  
Mosimann’s is a private dining club located in Belgravia. This afternoon Mycroft sits with his assistant Anthea in the main dining room updating his calendar as he awaits two very important guests. Lord Henry Moore and his daughter Vivienne were expected in less than twenty minutes. 

 

“Vivienne Arabella Elizabeth Moore, age twenty years, presently attends Oxford.” She looked up when Mycroft’s breath hitched. Following his line of site she recognized Lord more and his daughter walking a step behind him. Her breath would have come short also if she hadn’t been expecting the site before her. Damn they were early she was hoping to be out of here before the show started.

 

She stood up from the table and looking down at him made her goodbyes. “Well sir, I will take my leave and see you later at the office. Have a good meeting sir.” He never replied. He was too busy checking out the competition. She nodded and turned her back on him. Was it petty of her to wish the girl would all of a sudden neigh and defecate on the floor like a prize filly with a fancy pedigree? 

 

Miss Vivienne did not disappoint. She was dressed in pastel pink from head to toe and even carried a pastel pink hand bag. Vivienne was a tall thick boned girl and reminded her of Gwyneth Paltrow with her pail looks and long blonde hair. With the exception of excess of pink Mycroft seemed to like what he was looking at. She was so glad she had bugged the table because what was about to take plate was going to be one of the best things she had ever done to a Holmes.

 

She smiled up at Lord Moore as she passed him and he gave her a curt nod. Vivienne however didn’t give her a just a passing look or nod. Anthea was analyzed in a glance and deemed a threat. If Vivienne only knew how much a threat Anthea was she would have evacuated her bladder and took off running. 

 

Vivienne was spoiled from birth by a very indulgent daddy and deemed every woman from the queen to the lowest maid a threat. And now she planned to add Mycroft Holmes to her bag of toys and no female other than herself would ever play with him again. She would weed out office staff first, this aid Anthea must go. Looking at the aid all she saw was lush curves and a lot of temptation she would have to go before the wedding. 

 

Anthea walked past the girl and then out the door and into the sidewalk. She spied the sedan parked two cars down and walked toward it. The driver opened the door for her and before she got in she told him to take a break and she would call for him when she was ready for she had a confidential call to make. She texted John that the coast was clear for him to join her in the car then turned on her spy app set it to speaker and turned up the volume. A moment later the door was pulled open and John slid in with a big grin. They hunched over the phone and spent the next thirty minutes smothering giggles and snorts.

 

The men at the table had just finished their greetings and one of them had seated Vivienne. There were shuffling noises as the men seated themselves. The de rigueur small talk was halted by the arrival of the waiter. Vivienne ordered the Risotto Ai Funghi in a quiet voice and the men requested the Marinated Scottish Salmon as their choice. Polite small talk resumed but this time Vivienne entered the conversation and steered it more toward herself. When he asked about university Mycroft was regaled with story after story of the posh party that she had attended last week and the who’s who guests that attended. One of the princesses had attended! They were also treated to a monologue of what she had worn to the party and what her acquaintances wore. 

 

Vivienne was not an expert raconteur details were choppy in some areas and overly done in others and what topped it all was the voice. Her voice would make you cringe. It was nasal and kittenish all in one. John said it reminded him of a cat in heat yowling for relief. You might have overlooked it if one word spilling from the bubblegum colored lips held anything resembling an adult conversation. She talked while they waited for their food which came suspiciously quicker to the table than it normally would. Anthea suspected that they could hear her yowling all the way to the kitchens and wanted her out of their dining room. She talked throughout the meal and even throughout desert. 

 

As soon as Mycroft could get in a word he made his quick good byes and made a break for the door. As he was a regular there the meal would go on his card and there were no worries as to his quick escape from that table and that insufferable girl. 

 

Anthea quickly turned off the spy app and brought up fruit ninja on her phone while John made a quick getaway from the car a moment before Mycroft emerged from the building. The driver who had returned moments before opened the door for him as he approached. He slid in quickly murmuring for the driver to take him to the Diogenes club.

 

Anthea smiled to herself and crossed her legs making sure that a small glimpse of her suspender was showing. Mycroft needed a little something to compare between the two women while he pondered over the latest reports in the quiet of the Diogenes. She had chosen the Agent Provocateur Errin suspender in a dark pink to hold up her black hose. The color was to remind him that the color pink wasn’t just made for insipid little girls. 

 

She caught him glancing toward her thigh more than once on the short trip. Before the driver stopped at the curb he turned toward her and said, “Anthea, please strike Lady Vivienne from my list of prospects.” 

 

“Was it the voice Sir?” She gave him a smirk and he sent her back a dirty look then exited the car and walked stiffly toward the door of the Diogenes. If she wasn’t mistaken he was doing what she called the John Watson blue balls walk. Hope he could keep it quiet in his private room. 

 

Later that afternoon she could swear she saw the indentations of his teeth on the side of the index finger of his left hand. Good boy, he kept himself quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Henry Moore is a shout out to the fic The Heiress of Lord Henry More by Nofrure. It’s a Twilight fic but I love it.
> 
> When my daughter was small and would ask for a bed time story I would read it to her mimicking other people. Princess stories were always read by Princess Di (I’m quite good at that one) Silly stories were usually read by Fran Dresher or whatever funny voice on the telly caught my ear at the time. I picture dear Vivvy talking like a mix between Dresher and the girl on Big Bang Theory with the annoying little girl voice. I spent all of last night singing quite loud R. Kelly’s ‘I Believe I can Fly’ in Dresher’s voice. The teenager was not amused but it got her chores done so quick that I will do it again the next time she hides the folding in the closet rather than put it up where it belongs.


	6. LFABBBM CH6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a Beta! I’m so impressed with what she did, she took a mish mash and sorted it out for me. Thank you Callasandra!

“She’s into anal.” Anthea said in greeting as she walked into the kitchen at 221B. 

This had John Watson choking on the scone he had just put into his mouth and for a moment Anthea thought she would need to call for an ambulance. He finally got the offending scone up and looked at her with a red face and tears in his eyes.

“Did you just say anal, as in the next prospect you have for Mycroft likes to um.” The red from the choking was replaced by a blush. “Um, um,” He was befuddled and didn’t know what to say.

“Yes, it’s delightful! I’m so excited!” Anthea said with a huge grin. John thought she looked like she would bounce and clap she was so pleased.

 

Chasity Fitzhugh was a well-bred young lady of twenty two. Technically she had an intact hymen so you could call her a virgin. However, if her parents had known of Chasity’s activities away at school they would have put a padlock on her ass. 

Chasity had the nickname “Omega” among her very exclusive crowd. Anthea had to dig deep to find out the meaning of the word, but when she did she was certain that this young woman would make the perfect candidate for Mycroft Holmes’s bride search.

During the course of research, Anthea had found something called Omegaverse. 

Omegaverse was where the human species wasn’t just male and female. It was also broken up into three sub categories called Alpha, Beta, and Omega. 

The Alpha of the species was dominant, and both sexes with the Alpha trait, could breed the male or female with the Omega trait. Betas were just asexual neutral. Omega Males has something called a self-lubricating ass and could bear children. 

After doing all this research into smutty fanfiction, it was quickly taking the place of her Fruit Ninja and Angry Bird habit. It wasn’t good; she was now doing as much squirming as Mycroft.

Sweet Chasity’s ass got almost as much action as an ice cream parlor on a hot day. But, she was a virgin, so she fit perfectly into Anthea’s plot.

“Anthea, I can see a bloke getting excited over his girl doing that, but you know, um, most girls find that sortta thing offensive.” stated John.

“Sorry to make you uncomfortable, but you are a doctor. Haven’t you seen a little bit, of every crazy, perversity people can come up with?”

“Well, there was that guy with the broken light bulb…” 

John trailed off, and started looking at his friend with concern. 

“Anthea, just what are you planning?” 

Anthea gave a little smile. “Nothing elaborate John. Just a simple garden party with Mummy Holmes; I have it all arranged, and have included several of Chasity’s former lovers on the invitation list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can blame this chapter on the Three Patch Podcast. I was at work and in a panic because I couldn’t come up with a new ‘date’ for Mycroft. So I put in my ear buds because those girls aren’t safe for the speakers around people in business suits and coffee and tuned out for a while and listened to their latest episode.
> 
> Episode 38: The Greek Interpreted had an Omegaverse roundtable hosted by consulting fans Songlin, Diane Williams, and Pretty Arbitrary and I was captivated. It got me thinking, hmm could I throw an Omega into the plot without calling labeling it omegaverse? So that is when sweet Chasity with a very unusual kink strolled out of my mind palace and we went to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The garden party, take one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Callasandra! You are amazing!
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this took so long. I had my own barbecue for twenty or so to plan for and pull off. The stress of it all drove me nuts and made me lose my writing mojo for a while but hopefully its back now. I also shouldn’t mention at said barbecue that my insane brother in law brought this great new drink for me to try and after one very large glass I was wasted. I insulted my SIL and burned a rack of ribs before they made me sit in a corner and munch on a loaf of bread. It was apple pie moonshine. Amazing stuff, goes down smooth and you don’t know you’re screwed till the next day and everyone tells you what a wild party you had.  
> /////////////  
> /////////////

She really should have had Nanny take a belt to those boys, she thought while sipping her tea. 

 

Outside servants prepared for this afternoons garden party. Violet Holmes stood and walked to the library window to look out at the workers getting ready for the party. Workers were busy setting up tents and covering tables. Deep in the manor kitchens, the cook and her minions were working on the food. All was on schedule. 

 

Yes, it was mostly her fault because she had been running the government instead of raising the two but when they were small they were just so confusing and messy. That was why you had a nanny anyway. It was better when Mycroft was old enough to groom for his future. He fell in line quickly and excelled and when she retired he was there to step into her place. He did such an excellent job too.

 

Her youngest, Sherlock was hopeless. He fought every attempt she made to interest him in the family profession. That is what she got for marring an artist, a son with her brilliance and her husband’s temperament. Sherlock was resentful of all her attempts to guide him through the world he had inherited and did his utmost to embarrass her. A consulting detective! His exploits in the papers were a nightmare for her. The quickly quieted titters from her friends and the amused looks on her former ‘business’ associates’ faces, it was simply mortifying. 

 

Well she guessed she could have handled it a bit better but that is water under the bridge. Now was time to make up for it all. Both boys were getting long in the tooth it was time for them to settle down. Per her spies and surveillance devices, Mycroft was finally taking responsibility for the future of the family and considering settling down. But good God she had placed the most suitable of brides under his very nose, and the fool couldn’t see it. 

 

Violet, liked the girl with the many changing names, and had watched her for quite some time. What a prize that girl was, having climbed the ranks of the organization so fast. She had been quite literally been “grandfathered” in because of who her maternal grandfather was, and his years of service to the Queen. Even though there had been questions because, of the girl’s father, but Violet had put a stop to those with her contacts. Unbeknownst to Mycroft, it hadn’t taken much to slide “A” into service with him, Violet simply waited for when Mycroft finally took to the idea of marriage, and the family’s future. 

 

Violet’s hopes were heightened, with a call from the young lady, requesting a garden party at the behest of her son to meet prospective brides. Anthea would handle the guest list. That made her smile, even though it was a devious one.

 

She knew about the recent meet up with Lord Moore and his daughter. And she knew what the young woman was up to and approved. In fact she had a few prospects of her own included in the guest list that would help Mycroft see the light. 

 

Violet had decided also to include Sherlock in her plans. It was time to get rid of his companion. John Watson, hmm… she could do without him. The man had no pedigree what so ever. Granted he was a doctor, but only a mediocre one, plus he was damaged from battle; oh goodness her son could certainly do better. 

 

Well. If her son insisted on a man, which was perfectly fine, he needed an exemplary one. So with that thought she had littered the party’s guest list with young men that would turn Sherlock’s eye. 

 

+++

 

Violet looked down at the party observing every little nuance of the characters before her. The little dramas amused her; it was almost like the old game. Moving spies and world leaders like pieces on her personal chessboard. She looked toward Mycroft stuck in conversation with four competing young women. His face was blank but as his mother she knew the look, the man was about to bolt. She tapped her earpiece. “Atkinson, Mycroft is about to escape, please send the group he is with away and set up the next prospect please.” 

 

Just then something odd caught her attention, what the hell was Sherlock doing? The young man was moving erratically through the crowd, dodging people who attempted to strike up a conversation with him and hiding behind others. Ducking behind tables, and spinning in odd circles to hide behind the next person closer to whatever he was stalking. His odd movements were attracting attention. He looked deranged! 

 

She watched him for a few more seconds and figured it out. He was stalking Dr. Watson! The older man was trying to make it to the refreshment table and every few feet he was being stopped by another person to talk. Men and women both were flocking to the doctor. What was it about the man she wondered?

 

John was having a difficult time. He was self-conscious and he knew that he didn’t fit in with these people. His type of garden party was a back yard barbecue with his old army mates, not dressed to the nines and sipping Pimms cocktails. 

 

One young gentleman had the audacity to insult him in one sentence and then try to pick him up with the next. Like he would even consider someone who sidled up to him to say that his jacket was made from very low quality twill and then ask if he wanted to meet him in the loo in thirty. He was in a socially awkward spot and didn't want to embarrass himself or Sherlock or he would have knocked the chap on his arse

 

Now after that meet up and two women who were looking to hook up he was almost back to the table with his drink. Anthea was going to love the stories he had to tell her. Her guest list was proving to be amusing if nothing else. He was stopped once again by a younger gentleman with an earnest look on his face. Well he would put a stop to that.

 

“I’m very sorry, I’m not gay.” John Watson said to the young sandy haired blonde dressed in a striped blazer and white trousers. 

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. But you can’t help a bloke from trying. Names Arthur Dent by the way,” he said with shining blue eyes and an awkward smile. The young man was persistent, and after five minutes of chat with the fellow, John just couldn’t take it anymore. He looked at his glass, and even though he knew it was a waste of excellent Scotch, he faked a sneeze, and strategically spilt some of his Balvenie on Arthur’s white trousers  
. 

 

“Goodness, I really didn’t mean to do that. But you need to get the stain out before it sets. Run in the house and see if you can find one of the servants that can help.” He said helpfully, eager to get away from the dandy. 

 

“Yeah, yeah thanks. I really just should carry a towel with me. This happens all the time.” Arthur said as he turned towards the house. “Yes, I should never leave home without a towel.”

 

As Arthur turned away, John dashed away triumphantly only to be captured by a female this time, and oh good heavens it was the somewhat not so chaste Chasity. John blushed at the memory of the folder Anthea had on Chasity and the many things she had gotten up to while away at university. The memory of the acts described so graphically also flustered him so much he almost dropped his scotch. 

 

She stared at him eagerly, like he was a cool glass of water and she was parched and eager for a long deep sip. “HI, I’m Chasity.” She stepped closer to him that was necessary, “I’ve read your blog Doctor Watson and I’m quite a fan.” She purred and stroked a finger down his chest. This sent John into a full panic and he blurted out the first thing he could come up with. 

 

“I’m gay, sorry!” he yelped and took off again. 

 

He didn’t see Sherlock, ducking from his view behind the chair of two gossiping women. And for the first time that day Sherlock had been close enough to hear every word John said to another of the bothersome party goers. And what he said brought a small smile to Sherlock’s lips, which was then wrenched from his face when he stood and was immediately accosted by Chasity.

 

“Hi, you’re Sher ...” She started to say only to have Sherlock give her a look that shut her up and proceeded to deduce her. 

 

“You are a virgin because of your father is holding a sizable inheritance over your head which depends on an intact hymen. You retaliate against this by having anal intercourse, as well as fellatio, with many different men. You are here today because your father wants you to marry into the Holmes fortune. Neither of us would touch you without a hazard suite on. I suggest leaving. Good day mademoiselle.” He turned and stomped off to watch John fight his way through the crowd to Anthea sitting quietly under a tree. Gay was he?


	8. LFABBBM 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shawna, wow, you are amazing. Guys, my beta is amazing! LOL, if it wasn’t for her ‘give me a little more’ this chapter would have been just a filler/bore.
> 
>  
> 
> Hmm… question. Who played Arthur Dent in The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy? I even mentioned that he needed to carry a towel at all times! You see but do not observe. LOL Only one person got it. Pistalrose you would make Sherlock proud.

Ch. 8

 

From her vantage above the party on the second floor of her library, Violet Holmes observed the crowd below her. Mycroft looked as if he were going to spontaneously combust at any moment. He could small talk with royalty, petty dictators, and trigger happy terrorist but the boy just could not tolerate inane conversation. She almost smiled imagining some of the discussions he had today with prospective brides. It was amusing to torture your children sometimes. 

 

It was not however, a good idea to torture your mother. She sighed with motherly disgust; Sherlock was still bobbing around in the crowd down there, stalking his Doctor Watson. It was embarrassing; she needed to send word to Mycroft to have him stop Sherlock’s absurd behavior.

 

Just then Sherlock ducked behind a chair containing an attractive brunet who sat alone surveying the crowd around her with a jaded look on her face

 

The woman did not watch her fellow party goers, like one would watch rivals for a mutual goal, she merely observed. No she was up to something. That face, where had she seen that face? Ahh… she knew that face, Lady Christina. Tapping her earpiece. she called to her majordomo, “Atkinson, put the house on lockdown, have your men double guard anyone entering the premises. Lady De Souza is here. Also have someone review the video of the interior of the house for the last hour.” Hmm, what was she here for?

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

Mycroft was not having a good day. He was aggravated because he really couldn’t handle this situation; he juggled the world on a daily basis for God’s sake! But these women are annoying! He was contemplating starting a war (just minor one) to get out of this misery. 

 

It was most frustrating, He needed an heir. He had to have a female of the species, for that, so he just needed to pick one. But all of the specimens in his mother’s garden could at best be called idiots. He would probably have a more intelligent child, mating with a warm, treacle tart. Monday, he would speak to an expert on cloning, with any hope, he could make a qualify heir himself.

 

He spied Anthea sitting at a table far from the others located under a tree. As usual she was glued to her phone, but fidgeting slightly in her seat. He wondered what she was wearing under that dress, his thoughts drawn back to the peek of pink satin from the ensemble she was wearing, the night he picked her up at Sherlock’s.

 

As he began to walk her way, Mycroft began to relax ever so slightly; maybe he could hide from all the idiots, at least for a while, with her.

 

//\\\//\\\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

 

Anthea looked up from her phone to see Mycroft walking her way. He looked so dapper today in his version of casual which consisted of a stylish summer suit of light tan, a crisp white shirt, and brown tassel loafers. He had chosen to forgo the tie and his collar was unbuttoned two buttons and showed just a touch of chest hair. She took a deep breath and sighed, if only. Oh the possibilities.

 

If only she could pull him into the wood with a blanket, and a picnic basket. She could picture the two of them naked, with dappled sunlight raining down on the remains of their lunch, and scattered clothes. Her head on his shoulder, her breath barely back to normal from their lovemaking, as she ran her nails across his chest. He kissing her sweaty brow and whispering sweet nothings. 

 

She pictured them together, in one of the quiet drawing rooms of the manor house, with the pictures of his ancestors staring down at them disapprovingly, as they tried in vain to make love without noise to alert the staff. She imagined her astride him, on the large leather Chesterfield sofa, riding him slow to the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The heat from the fire on her back, while he provided all the warmth she needed with his hot sensual kisses to her nape and breast. Her breath caught as she imagined her head thrown back and his fingers on her lips muffling her cries as he rode her to completion.

 

A crack in a tree branch above her startled her out of her daydream. That’s it; she was reading way too much fanfiction. And from the look of Mycroft he had caught her in her daydreams. 

 

Mycroft eyes twinkled, and his lips were crooked in that almost smile of his. He was on his way to her, and it wasn’t business; he wanted to be with her. Her heart broke and sang at the same time. 

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

John Watson hair was beginning to stand on end. Yes, he was a retired soldier, but the skills learned in battle never really leave you. So when the sparse security in their austere black suits suddenly doubled as well as the shutters covertly being closed on the first floor windows, he noticed. John knew something was coming, and it wasn’t the opera performance during the “Entertainment” portion, of the garden party. 

 

He looked for the closest security and started wandering towards them. His blood started pumping, reading him for what was to come. When he saw the silver, metallic, glint from the Grecian folly, in the back of the park, he knew that someone was up to no good. The folly was an excellent location for a sniper, on a far hill top with a view of the party site; the back doors and the route the guest were using to make it to and from their vehicles. 

 

Sherlock said he wouldn’t need his gun for the party and refused to let him bring it. Ha, was he wrong. 

 

He quickly glanced around looking for Sherlock. Oh good God, he was doing that embarrassing bobbing about again. Maybe he would have enough sense to get under a table if the firing which he expected to start soon started. He looked toward where he left Anthea and noticed Mycroft walking toward her. Good they would be together. That would make it easier for him to guard, and also they would have tree coverage.

 

After nicking an unopened bottle of Pimms, as he passed the bar, John sidled up to the security, and taking care to be just enough behind him so he could see the hill and be covered from a bullet if it headed his way first he waited for the first shot. It wasn’t long coming, at the first echo the screams started. Quickly he hefted the Pimms bottle to the side of the agents head and quickly relived him of his gun. He felt much better about things now. 

 

He saw Sherlock dive for cover under a table and knew he would be ok there. By the increase of noise the agents had spotted the shooter and were returning fire. 

 

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

 

But things changed in the space of a heartbeat.

Anthea watched Mycroft’s, as he walked towards her, a smile growing on her face, as she wondered if he had FINALLY realized she was the best woman for him. 

She saw his features change from gentle humor, and (dare she hope) lust, to absolute horror. That is when she realized that he wasn’t looking at her face; he was looking at her chest. 

She looked down to see a red dot over her heart. Her head shot up with realization. Their eyes locked, as the crack of a bullet sounded.

John heard the bullet, and quickly glanced around to where Sherlock was still hiding behind a table. Good, the git was safe.

Then saw Mycroft’s frantic face as he hovered over Anthea’s prone body, lying on the ground. 

“Oh Shite!” He muttered, and started that way. 

He wasn’t quick enough; before John could get to the other end of the garden, he saw two men in black coming from the woods, heading toward Mycroft and Anthea. 

If all this was to get to Mycroft, they would succeed, since all of the security was, swapping fire with the sniper on the hill. 

No one would know Mycroft was missing until the sniper was taken out of commission, AND all of the guests were accounted for, AND the casualties taken care of. He took aim and handled that problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up treacle tart on line; it’s a rather shallow dish. Nothing like a deep dish apple pie. I hear that’s a little better in the mating game. Now that I put that lovely picture in your mind click kudo’s or leave a comment.
> 
> I’m excited tonight is the Draconid Meteor shower. Dixiebell and I are heading to Dauphin Island so we can watch it away from all the lights. The sound of waves and the view of the milkyway, nothing beats it. [Maybe I can gig a crab or two for gumbo] So if you’re in the ‘Point’ area around 1ish and you hear two nuts wading in the Gulf screaming at falling stars it’s me and my sister.


	9. LFABBBM 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, the holidays have me buried in work, shopping, and family. I have a new dinner party and a separate horderve party to plan. At least the dinner party is for my family this time and not the in laws. They are the best, they eat and run. The horderve party is for the in laws and I swear I will frisk those boys down at the door, no moonshine allowed. If they want to drink that stuff they can go do it in the street and play dodge ball with the cars.

John looked down at a very pale Anthea lying on the small loveseat in the cook’s office. She looked so terribly small. He thought back to the moment he had seen her lying on the ground with Mycroft kneeling over her and his heart skipped a beat. He had been sure he had lost his friend. The thought of her dead hurt something in him; the world would be a far less interesting place without Anthea in it. Who else would he have to complain with about Holmes brothers? He knelt beside her and checked her pulse, slow and steady. She mumbled and cracked an eye, looking up at him with a glazed look on her face. She was coming back to normal, slowly. “Anthea dear, I don’t know if you can understand me but you are ok and should be up soon.”

 

“John,” She mumbled, “John, I saw something nasty in the wood shed.” She smiled faintly at her joke. If she was giving obscure and weird movie quotes he knew she was alright. 

 

He brushed her hair off her face and said gently, “Oh I thought you did something nasty in the wood shed,” he giggled lightly. 

 

“Not yet…” she said in a sleepy voice and then shut her eyes and out she went again.

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

When John returned to the massive kitchen he saw a lovely brunet dressed in her best garden party finery seated on a chair at the table and flanked on two sides by members of Mycroft’s security team. Two other members of Mycroft’s security team and Mrs. Holmes majordomo stood back against the various cabinetries stiff and silent. The spacious kitchen of Holmes Manor was currently devoid of all other help. It was spotless which had to be an achievement since all the food that had come in and out of here today. Mummy Holmes must run a tight ship. Mycroft and his mother were at that moment whispering to each other on the other side of a work island and didn’t glance up at his entrance. He stopped beside Sherlock and whispered, “What did I miss?”

 

He wasn’t as quiet as he thought and Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft looked up at his question so he just nodded to them and they resumed their whispered conversation. 

 

“Not much, she isn’t talking. Mycroft has men looking into it.” Sherlock didn’t bother to whisper. 

“Have you deduced anything?” The three of them should have come up with something by now. He looked over at the girl. She was watching them with a small curl of her lip. He tried a little of Sherlock’s deducing himself. She had an aristocratic air about her as if she was used to the peons jumping with just one arch of a finely plucked eyebrow. John looked at her and realized quite suddenly that she was the ringleader behind the shooter and the unsuccessful kidnapping of Mycroft. Oh well, this wasn’t going to be pleasant at all. Interrogations were messy business, and interrogating a woman left a bad taste in John’s mouth.

 

“How is Anthea John?” Mycroft asked, he sounded aloof but by the wrinkling around his eyes he showed his concern for his aide. If John wasn’t mistaken, Mycroft was letting his feelings show. He stored the picture of Mycroft in his mind to later share with Anthea. 

 

“I’d give her at least an hour or more before the drug wears fully off. She’s just mumbling nonsense at the moment. There was something I noticed, however but it’s not about Anthea. The dart she was hit with and the other ones found with the shooter. When I looked at the other darts they were a very light dose so she didn’t get much in her system. I guess we can be thankful for that. “

 

Sherlock came alert at this. John could see his mind running calculations. He waited for Sherlock to spout off something to solve the mystery but he remained silent. Well if he has something he will say it when he is ready, John thought. Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes finished their whispered conversation and joined them standing around the bound woman at the table. It was time for questions. John took a step back and leaned against the island getting a little of his weight off his leg. If they weren’t going to make them leave he at least was going to try to be comfortable.

 

The questions started and for an hour they got nothing out of the young lady other than smirks and eyebrow arches. The longer it went on the more John thought fondly of waterboarding. He was sure he could get an answer out of her that way. This polite questioning was going nowhere. 

 

In the adjoining office they could hear mumbling, Anthea was waking up. Then the mumbling turned to singing. Everyone quieted a moment, their attention turning toward the adjoining room. Oh Lord, John thought, she was singing Caramel. Mycroft hung on every word John saw with a satisfaction that he tried his best to keep hidden. He put that on the list to tell Anthea later. He went to excuse himself to check on her and try to quiet the musical confession but Mycroft beat him to it and left the group to walk toward the cracked door. He carefully closed it once he was inside.

 

But strangely the singing and Mycroft’s attention to it was what got the first word out of their prisoner. “Give a canary a little freedom and they will sing for the world.” 

 

Sherlock smiled for the first time in an hour.


	10. LFABBBM 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Shawna! Amazing job. If she didn't send a nudge or two y'all would still be waiting for an update. I was at a road block and couldn't get past it. She got me going again and pointed me in the direction I needed to go.
> 
> Ok, fair warning, I tend to write violent things. I get humor and violence mixed. So sorry, I’m probably the ass giggling at the horror movie in the row behind you. And action flicks with lots of violence…. I hoot and cackle and you all but have to strap me down to keep me still. I box along. Well, I also get sex and violence a little mixed up too but then again I can’t say I’ve ever been into vanilla.

As Mycroft quietly entered the room his eager eyes sought Anthea. She lay on her side facing the back of the sofa. Her hair was loose and flowed across the pillow it rested upon and just looking at it now made him want to run his fingers through the dark locks. She was quietly singing a song about caramel and cinnamon and he could hear the real longing in the words. She wasn’t loud, it was just that in her voice you could sense the agony of longing for something you would never have.

 

… six months earlier…

 

Three quiet knocks and then Anthea entered with a tea tray. Closing the door behind her with a gentle push of a red soled pump she crossed the room to a side table and placed the tray upon it. Quietly and efficiently she went about preparing their morning repast. 

Glancing at his watch he gave mental thanks for elevenses. It was actually his favorite time of the day. He and Anthea would sit and discuss anything that wasn’t office or service to country related. It was the only time Anthea was something other than the efficient aide and he truly enjoyed those moments. 

Yesterday she had defended her addiction to Angry Birds. Although he still thought games such as those a complete waste of time she did a very thorough job of it, so well that he had actually tried the game out before bed last night. Of course he deleted the app as soon as he finished but by the smirk she gave him this morning he knew she knew he had tried it. She wouldn’t mention it of course, too professional his Anthea, but she still wore that little smirk. 

Looking over at her as she prepared his tea he noticed something different. This morning instead of his plate with the usual half a biscuit there was a cinnamon roll. “I do think Anthea you have misplace my biscuit. Go find it would you.”

“Sir I must say no to your request. Today is your birthday, so you shall have the roll.” She said firmly, popping down the desert plate with the large sinfully sticky sweet roll in front of him. His eyebrow shot up at that and with most of his employees that alone would have them scurrying off to do his bidding but no, not with Anthea. She quietly turned and poured his tea. Somehow she knew that this would be the only celebration of his birthday and she was intent to celebrate it with him. With that thought he gave in and took up his fork. Placing his cup before him she then poured her own and taking it and her own cinnamon roll she sat in her usual spot across from him.

“What shall we talk of today my dear?” He asked while cutting the roll with his fork. Placing the first bite in his mouth he shut his eyes in ecstasy. The warm dough, the creamy sugar icing, and the cinnamon just burst across his taste buds and had his toes actually curling in pleasure. He thought his brain short circuited for a moment. He would have to avoid Sherlock at all cost today, he would torture him merrily with the knowledge that he had given into something so fattening, so decadent, and so absolutely wonderful. Better to avoid him for a week, nothing more or he would know that he was avoiding him for a reason. 

“Today on my way in I passed a flower shop and smelt hyacinths from the open door, the smell reminded me of my granny? That ever happen to you? A smell takes you back to a time long ago or a person.” She sipped at her tea in contemplation.

“On occasion when I smell a certain kind of tobacco smoke I am reminded of our game keeper at the manor when I was a child. I recall the sweet smell and him fondly.”

“When I smell honey I think of your brother, he is so obsessed with honey bees.” Why would she even think of what Sherlock smelt like? “Doctor Watson smells of sand and sunshine.” Why would a certain smell remind her of Sherlock’s Doctor? Better yet, he wondered with not just a small bit of jealousy, what did he smell like to her? 

“You smell like spring rain and English bluebells.” He thought he did well by the way her smile lit up her face and she blushed slightly.

“Thank you. You know, every time I smell caramel or cinnamon I think of you.”

 

…now…

 

“It won’t do to dream of caramel, to think of cinnamon. And long for you.”

He came closer and knelt beside her on the floor. She rolled over and finished her quiet rendition of the song… “And long for you…” and reaching up touched his face, looking up at him with sleepy still drugged eyes. Cupping his cheek with her hand and whisper sang the last line “And how I long for you.”

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

Meanwhile back in the kitchen Sherlock had finally observed enough to deduce the prisoner.

“Your father is a minor aristocrat, obsessed with your two. No three younger brothers form a step mother almost as young as you...” He paced back and forward in the room occasionally stopping in front of the prisoner only to begin again with his deductions. It was like the more he moved the quicker the deduction. His feet moved with the mad pace of his mind.

He paused to study her face again. “You are an adrenaline junkie and very bored with the expectations of your aristocratic upbringing. You are a thief; you started with small things at school but escalated fast. You’ve been caught once before but your father kept it out of the papers. You used to steal for the thrill but someone showed you the potential profit. You send newspaper clippings of your unsolved thefts to your father for your amusement knowing he will do anything to keep your escapades out of the papers.” He pauses for effect. “And, you weren’t trying to kidnap Mycroft, you were after Anthea.” 

Sherlock waited for reaction but got nothing but an expertly plucked eyebrow arching to his last deduction. This just spurred Sherlock on and he just spewed more of his deductions. “Why Anthea? She is an aide to a minor government official. She would die before she gave anything secretive away. Ransom, no.” He thought for a fraction of a moment and continued, “It’s not what she is but who she is. Hmm… reared by her grandfather and her mother. A grandfather who is in the diplomatic corps, mother in the foreign office. Nothing surprising there, so it’s her father. ”

She just laughed at him. “Well you know I’ve heard rumors of your little gift Mr. Holmes. Jim was amused.”

When she mentioned the name Jim it was like someone threw a pail of ice water over John. Jim was a fighting word to John, and since they were getting nowhere with polite questions and he doubted that they were set up for waterboarding he took it upon himself to cut the crap and get to the point. He turned opened a drawer behind him and grabbed the first small knife his hand came to. It was a short paring knife worn from age, its shaft nicked and the wooden handle discolored. This was going to get messy. 

He turned back to the woman and pushed Sherlock out of the way gently. Moving to where he was only inches from their prisoner and with a sunny smile he slammed the knife down into her hand. She screamed but quickly clenched her teeth and glared hatred at the doctor. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to spill. After watching Sherlock’s blood spread across the pavement at Saint Bart’s a few tears weren’t going to stir him to sympathy. Especially with the name of Jim Moriarty in the air echoing off his still very raw nerves like a caustic cloud.

He didn’t bother to look up at the others; he didn’t really care what they thought at the moment. Nor did he remove the knife pinning the young woman’s hand to the table. Jim had wormed his way into this now and the time for polite questions and conversation was over. Leaning down to look her in the eye he slammed his hand on the table and she flinched. He started to talk and the John everyone here recognized was gone. His voice was deeper, the words clipped, the volume lower where you strained to hear. The voice John spoke with now was an unsympathetic voice and it imparted the need for the truth, because that person wouldn’t be squeamish to your screams. He might welcome them.

“Now, that one was dull and as you can feel quite painful. If you would like to continue not to answer our questions I’m sure cook would let me borrow one of her carving knives. A sharper one so it would go in smoother,” he winked at her and she gave him a dirty look. In reply he gave her a toothy grin and with one finger pushed the blade sticking up from her hand with one finger causing it to move and send fresher bolts of pain to her brain. “Of course if that doesn’t inspire you to answer our questions we can go another way,” and smiling wickedly leaned in closer and said slowly, “You should see me debone a chicken.”

She didn’t sob, but with anger and tears swimming in her eyes said with gritted teeth against the pain, “Oh what a cast of characters, you’re the doctor that Jim used to rant about. If he had only known the real you he would have lost all interest in Sherlock.”

“Knife. Hand. Chicken. You pick.” Was all John said in return and he turned from her and approached the knife drawer again. “Used to,” he snorted and then giggled of all things. If he had been facing her way her blood would have frozen. His smile was one that said if she didn’t talk she would quite painfully regret it in the coming moments. He pulled knives from the drawer one at a time holding each one up in contemplation, making sure she saw a glimpse of each knife from over his shoulder. “I can get quite creative with friends of Jim. I had two years to think on it if you recall. My therapist tells me that I have some lingering anger issues.”

However the two Holmes’ remaining in the room did have a good view of the doctor’s face and both were looking at John like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. 

Violet contemplated the man before her, she knew she had misjudged the scrappy doctor and was making list in her head for what other things he would come in handy for. His skills with a gun had impressed her earlier and now with this, this was most impressive. The doctor didn’t mind getting his hands dirty and showed knowledge of enhanced interrogation techniques. He would kill for her sons and his friend. Hmm, he could be useful. She would speak to Mycroft about it later.

Sherlock standing quietly for once by his mother was looking at John with more than a small bit of lust. 

 

Lady Christina on the other hand, at least the one not pinned to the table with a bloody paring knife, thought that this was nothing like her usual jobs and she dearly regretted taking on the job. She should have never blundered into acquiring people and stuck to inanimate objects. How was she going to get out of this one? No rogue red buses were going to pop out of thin air and this doctor had not one wit of humor to him. And he was gay to boot. She was so screwed. She took a deep quivering breath and began to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMM…. Ever see a movie called American Dreamer (1984) with JoBeth Williams? It’s a classic 80’s romantic comedy. Someone please pull out the old VHS and give it a watch and then turn it into a Sherlock fic for me. I would love to see an amnesiac John thinking he’s Sherlock and Sherlock as his sidekick. Or hell, twist the movie anyway you want. Just the thought of John trying of the Belstaff coat gives me the giggles. In the movie is has the main character waking up and since she is so disgusted with what she is wearing she goes on a shopping spree and charges it to the person she thinks she is. Could you see John wearing Sherlock’s personality hitting Savile row and going on a spree and sending the bill to Mycroft. It would be a hoot.


	11. LFABBBM 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m late on this one. I have three projects I’m working on and this one kind of slipped to the bottom of the pile. So while you wait here is a short snippet to keep you busy.  
> Thank you Shawna! I need a shock collar and she needs the control. “Pix, get back to work zapppppp” Sometimes it’s like getting a bird dog to herd cattle, I get distracted so easy.

As they left the kitchen Sherlock turned and said one quiet but firm word to his mother. “Mine.” It quite reminded Violet Holmes of Sherlock as a small child. If he took a fancy to an item you might as well give it up. There was once a time when she thought it was the only word he knew. She shelved her mental list of the many uses of Doctor Watson for the time being. If ever Sherlock lost interest in the doctor she would recruit him to her team. But with the smirk on his lips and that smoky look in her son’s eye, she doubted she would ever be in the positon to hire John Watson.

Sherlock shut the door behind him quietly and looked at John’s retreating back. He was about ten steps ahead of him and he could tell that his adrenalin was charged up. He all but strutted down the hall heading toward the rooms his mother had assigned them. John had had his fix today, he smiled at his back. The smile turned into a grin, bone a chicken! John’s culinary skills were limited to warming beans, toasting bread and making a remarkable cup of tea. He started giggling which made John stop and turn with a questioning look.

He caught up with him and stood well into John’s personal space. John looked up at him; waiting for whatever observation Sherlock would deign to give him. He was energized but also nervous. He really didn’t mean to have gotten so carried away in there and he was starting to regret some of his actions. Sherlock watched john question himself and could see when it started to turn into himself with the beginnings of embarrassment. He nipped that before it changed his plans.

“Bone. A. Chicken”

“I was improvising Sherlock,” John began. 

Sherlock pushed him into the wall and attacked his lips. Only pausing to say in a breathy whisper. “I have never been more turned on.”

“Oh God Yes….”

**Author's Note:**

> The Magnetic Fields – Andrew in Drag  
> Susan Vega - Caramel


End file.
